So Sam, somewhat scared, sauntered slowly, shaking stupendously. Sam soliloquizes: "Sophia Sophronia Spriggs Short-Sophia Sophronia Short, Samuel Short's spouse-sounds splendid! Suppose she should say-she sha'n't!" Soon Sam spied Sophia starching shirts, singing softly. Seeing Sam she stopped starching; saluted Sam smilingly; Sam stammered shockingly. "Sp-sp-splendid summer season, Sophia." "Somewhat sultry," suggested Sophia. "Sar-sartin, Sophia," said Sam. Dnds.) "Selling saddles still, Sam?" (Silence seventeen sec "Sar-sar-sartin," said Sam, starting suddenly. "Season's somewhat soporific," said Sam, stealthily staunching streaming sweat, shaking sensibly. "Sartin," said Sophia, smiling significantly. "Sip some sweet sherbet, Sam." (Silence sixty seconds.) "Sire shot sixty sheldrakes, Saturday," said Sophia. "Sixty? sho!" said Sam. (Silence seventy-seven séconds.) "See sister Susan's sunflowers," said Sophia, sociably scattering such stiff silence. Sophia's sprightly sauciness stimulated Sam strangely: so Sam suddenly spoke sentimentally: "Sophia, Susan's sunflowers seem saying, "Samuel Short, Sophia Sophronia Spriggs, stroll serenely, seek some sequestered spot, some sylvan shade. Sparkling Spring shall sing soul-soothing strains; sweet songsters shall silence secret sighing; super angelic sylphs shall—”” Sophia snickered: so Sam stopped. "Sophia," said Sam, solemnly. "Sam," said Sophia. "Sophia, stop smiling. Sam Short's sincere. Sam's seeking some sweet spouse, Sophia. "Speak, Sophia, speak! Such suspense speculates sorrow." "Seek sire, Sam, seek sire." So Sam sought sire Spriggs. Sire Spriggs said, "Sartin." MAHMOUD.-LEIGH HUNT. There came a man, making his hasty moan And the wild villain comes and makes me mad with life." "Is he there now?" said Mahmoud. "No;-he left The house when I did, of my wits bereft, And laughed me down the street, because I vowed I'd bring the prince himself to lay him in his shroud. I'm mad with want-I'm mad with misery, And O thou Sultan Mahmoud, God cries out for thee!" The Sultan comforted the man, and said, "Go home, and I will send thee wine and bread,” (For he was poor) "and other comforts. Go: And should the wretch return, let Sultan Mahmoud know." In three days' time, with haggard eyes and beard, And shaken voice, the suitor re-appeared, And said, "He's come." Mahmoud said not a word, But rose and took four slaves, each with a sword, And went with the vexed man. They reach the place, That to the window fluttered in affright: “Go in," said Mahmoud, “and put out the light; The man went in. There was a cry, and hark!— And chop the shrieking wretch, and drink his bloody life. Now light the light," the Sultan cried aloud: 'Twas done: he took it in his hand and bowed Over the corpse, and looked upon the face; Put up a prayer, and from his lips there crept In reverent silence the beholders wait, Then bring him at his call both wine and meat; The man amazed, all mildness now and tears, The Sultan said, with a benignant eye, "Since first I saw thee come, and heard thy cry, I could not rid me of a dread, that one By whom such daring villanies were done, Must be some lord of mine,-ay, e'en perhaps a son. I knelt and thanked the sovereign Arbiter, Whose work I had performed through pain and fear; And then I rose and was refreshed with food, The first time since thy voice had marred my solitude." THE WIVES OF BRIXHAM. A TRUE STORY. You see the gentle water, But you know it can be angry, And if you like to listen, And draw your chairs around, I'll tell you what it did one night When you were sleeping sound. The merry boats of Brixham You may see, when summer evenings fall, But when the year grows darker, And thus it chanced one winter's night, Then as the wind grew fiercer, The women's cheeks grew white, It was fiercer in the twilight, And fiercest in the night; The strong clouds set themselves like ice, The blackness of the darkness Was darkness to be felt. The storm, like an assassin, Went on its wicked way, And struck a hundred boats adrift, To reel about the bay. They meet, they crash,-God keep the men! God give a moment's light! There is nothing but the tumult, And the tempest, and the night. The men on shore were anxious,- 80 They took the grandame's blanket, Who could not say them no; And they heaped a great fire on the pier; And, fed with precious food, the flame Till a cry rang through the people, Then all along the breadth of flame With, "Child, here comes your father!" And faint feet touch the welcome stone, And kisses drop from frozen lips, So, one by one, they struggled in, And this is what the men must do |